


Even Trade

by Castalie



Series: The Night [6]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitute, Gritty, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castalie/pseuds/Castalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Written in 2005 for a TS ficathon] Each love story has a beginning... even the fucked-up ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Trade

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a prequel to my _Night_ series. It tells the story of Jim and Blair's growing relationship.

"When you give each other everything, it becomes an even trade. Each wins all" - Lois McMaster Bujold, A Civil Campaign.

It was happening again.

Jim didn't know whether to break something or kill someone. Or maybe kill himself; that would work too. Anything to release the pressure. Anything to make the maddening feeling _stop_.

He was going crazy, there was no other explanation for it. And that thought drove him... well, crazy as well.

He'd felt ‘off’ all day, as if his skin had a life of its own; he honestly couldn't explain it better than that. He'd tried to ignore the feeling - being stubborn had its uses - but it had gone from bad to worse to almost unendurable in the course of the night.

Jim knew he should have stayed home, but he needed the money and there was no way he was going to miss a shift just because of this. He couldn't even picture himself saying it. Yeah, that would have gone over so well if he'd actually contacted his boss and admitted that his 'clothes hurt him'. The only thing that admission would have earned him was a one-way ticket to a nice padded room with his name on it.

Although, to be honest, he wasn’t certain that it wouldn’t be the best place for him. Not when his fucking _shirt_ felt like sandpaper on his skin. That just wasn't normal, it was just plain _crazy_. But no matter what his release papers said - no matter what he’d grown up to believe - he wasn't a freak and he wasn't going to let something like that put his life on hold any more than it already had. Nor would he let it stop him from doing his duty, such as it was.

So he'd sucked it up and headed for the docks that night. He'd concentrated on each step he took, tried to keep his mind off the pain that was slowly getting worse, and just do what the hell he was being paid to do - lift the box, put down the box, lift another box, put it down beside the others, over and over again.

Not exactly how he'd envisioned his life, but you didn't always have a choice.

He'd done his job; jaw clenched tighter than usual, attitude colder than ever, daring anyone to even _look_ at him funny. Of course, this wasn't going to gain him any new friends. To be honest, he didn't give a shit; on a good day, all he wanted was for people to leave him alone. On days like this, there was no telling what he might do to someone who pissed him off.

He was hurting. As much as he loathed to admit it, he fucking _hurt_. And how a piece of clothing could do that was beyond him. So now that his shift was over, he was going to go home and slowly die.

Alone. Surrounded by silence.

If he even made it that far.

He groaned as he felt another jolt of pain run through his body and shuddered, his vision becoming blurry. His chest and arms in particular seemed over-sensitive and didn't take well to the denim covering them. He stopped for a moment and hid in a shadowed corner, trying to take a deep breath, willing himself not to whimper pathetically, willing his mind to relax; at least enough to make it home.

Please, let him reach his apartment before he keeled over.

After everything he'd gone through, from childhood to adulthood, he couldn't believe something like _this_ could debilitate him so much. After dedicating so many years to achieving control over his body and his mind, he was discovering that he was weak. And that hurt like hell, too.

He took another deep breath and straightened. He would do it. He didn't know how, but he would do it. He took a first step and swallowed; the pain was still here, but at least his vision was clear again. He would be able to make it home now.

It was a matter of willpower; he had to believe that.

As he took another cautious step forward, he noticed someone watching him - or, more accurately, that someone had been watching before turning his head toward the other side of the street once he realized he'd been seen.

Before the stranger had turned away, Jim had time to see that the man was quite young - or _looked_ quite young, at least. It also looked as though he was a working boy, so to speak. He was slender, with dark, tousled curls falling artfully around his shoulders; his outfit was obviously meant to attract attention and excite interest, as was his attitude.

Not that hookers - male or female - were out of the ordinary in this neighborhood. And there wasn't a thing he could do to help, either.

Since he'd been booted out of the army and come back to Cascade - since he'd basically had his life stolen from him - Jim had decided the best course of action was to keep to himself. He never caused problems - never went out looking for them, though he usually answered if they knocked on his door - but he also tried not to care too much about what went on around him. He didn't always like the man he had become, but for now it was the only way he'd found to survive and cope with his new role in life, now that he was a civilian again. He didn't need new betrayals, new heartaches or new disappointments. All he needed right now was this - time to gain control over his own life. And if it meant years of loneliness, well, so be it.

Shit happened, to a lot of people. Man or woman, young or old, Fate didn't give a damn; anyone was good enough for her. There wasn't a thing anyone could do to prevent her from taking who she'd chosen. You just had to accept life for what it was - a long succession of betrayal and pain - and Jim was finally coming to terms with that ugly truth.

He wasn't here to help people, not anymore. Hell, he couldn't even help himself, and wasn't that a kick.

Slowly walking in the shadows where he felt safer, Jim quietly approached the kid. He made sure not to give off any signals; he knew perfectly well that, even if he didn't show it, the hooker was aware of everything and everyone around him. The last thing Jim wanted was for the whore to proposition him. Or attack him - you never knew what went through their heads. Besides, in his state Jim didn't know what his own reaction would be; chances were that it would quickly turn ugly.

He had to pause again when he felt a new thrust of pain attack his system, and he burrowed deeper in the shadow of the wall.

Once again the kid looked in his direction, still not moving an inch, just staring at him. The look was almost unnerving. Calm, just this side of curious, it seemed as if the other man wasn't the least bit interested in Jim's situation, but felt compelled to check on him anyway. Or maybe he was just curious about what Jim was doing. His whole demeanor was one of carefully studied languor. He obviously knew his business and it was clear he wasn't going to waste his time with someone who wasn't there to give him money.

Or so Jim thought.

It was fine with him. He certainly didn't want the help of a kid who happened to be here because he was selling his ass on the street and who might only see him as an entertainment.

He winced, this time not because of the pain, but because of his unthinking reaction; a part of him realized he was being unfair. He had the feeling it was the pain talking more than anything else, but it was slowly making him lose all rational thought and he couldn't help it; being an ass to some stranger was the least of his worries. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd been aggressive towards the kid.

"God," he rasped, running a hand through his hair, then stopping when the strands stung his fingers as if he was touching crushed glass.

What the hell was he thinking, anyway? He _was_ going mad, wasting his time thinking about a perfect stranger who hadn't even uttered a single word to him - who barely even noticed him - when he should be concentrating on getting home in one piece. That was stupid. Real stupid. These fucking 'spells' of his were turning him into a moron.

Great.

He shook his head and tried to clear his mind; he really was losing it. He left the safety of his corner and stared down at the kid again, not backing down until the other had turned away. He had no reason to do so - the kid posed no threat - and absolutely no explanation of why he was doing it. All he knew was that he had an urge to show the other that he wasn't one of the drunkards or junkies that infested the area. As if it mattered that the whore knew what kind of man was in front of him.

Yeah, definitely losing it.

He sighed and offered what he hoped was an apologetic look to the whore, who was now carefully pretending not to be watching anymore. The small frown that appeared on the boy's face told Jim that his message had been received, if not exactly understood.

Thinking he'd embarrassed himself quite enough for the night, Jim walked away, finally heading to what passed for his home. As he walked in front of the kid, a scent that seemed oddly comforting surrounded him, almost caressing his body.

But the feeling was gone so quickly that, after a couple of minutes, his mind forgot it had even happened.

It was only when he’d almost reached his apartment that he realized how much the pain had diminished all of a sudden. Enough that he could breathe normally and not want to die. At last.

He had no idea what he'd done to turn down the pain that way, but he promised himself to pay attention next time it happened; he had to remember what the solution was. If there actually was a solution. He didn't want to imagine the pain had faded away just on a whim, the same way it had happened in the first place. He needed control over this.

The control was all that mattered.

* * *

Things were getting out of control.

He knew it.

He saw it.

He hadn't the slightest idea of how to stop it.

There wasn't a damn thing he could do right this moment. It almost felt as if he was outside his body. All he knew was that he was afraid and he wanted to hurt somebody. Too bad for the guy who happened to be there. But it was the hooker's fucking fault for thinking that he could take advantage of Jim's vulnerable state to... to what, Jim didn't really know, but there was no way in hell he was going to let some random guy touch him without his permission. Who the fuck did this asshole think he was?

Jim slammed the culprit against the wall, unmoved by his gasp of pain - which was quickly restrained, anyway - and held him there, effectively pinning him like an insect.

"Listen, you son of a bitch, I could break your skull right now with a single hand, so you'd better keep your hands off me, is that clear?"

To Jim's astonishment, the guy now face-to-face with him, feet no longer touching the ground, didn't even blink. He was obviously on the verge of exploding himself but was apparently smart enough not to do it.

His fists tightly clenched as if trying not to punch Jim, the stranger - who Jim realized wasn't totally a stranger since he seemed to be the same kid who'd watched him several nights ago - just made himself keep still, trying to appear non-threatening.

"Hey, Mike Tyson, relax, okay?"

"I'll relax when you tell me what the fuck you thought you were doing."

"Well that'll go fast then, ‘cause I wasn't doing anything." He still hadn't tried to dislodge Jim's hold on him, waiting almost patiently for the offender to come back to his senses.

Jim wasn't fooled; he recognized barely-repressed anger when he saw it. He allowed himself a few seconds of admiration for the other man's control of his temper, but didn't let it distract him from the problem at hand.

"You were all over me, you little shit! Don't try to deny it."

"I'm not denying anything, and what are you anyway, a cop?"

Jim snorted at that. Right.

"Right," the hooker drawled in an eerie echo of Jim's thought. "I don't think so. So what do you think of fucking letting me go, uh? What? You're afraid I'm going to molest you or something? No risk, man. I have standards."

Which made Jim laugh, at least. "Standards? That's what they call it these days?" He released his hold a fraction, letting the other's feet find the ground again, but not allowing him to escape just yet.

If he hurt anywhere, the stranger wasn't letting it show. He relaxed a little and looked up, an air of feigned nonchalance on his face. Then again, Jim didn't have any idea whether it was actually feigned or not. Maybe the guy truly wasn't fazed by Jim's attitude.

"Listen, tough guy, I was just going home when I saw you, alright? You were, like, totally frozen and in case you don't know it, that's the exact spot where a nice and kinda deadly garbage truck parks every evening. The guy driving it usually thinks he's driving a racecar, and he doesn't give a shit what's in front of him. So I thought, hey, do I try to see what that guy's problem is, or do I just sit back and watch the show when he gets squished?"

Jim tried to make sense of what the kid was rambling about. Then it struck him. The last thing he remembered was seeing a teenager throw a frisbee to his friend from one side of the street to the other - he'd watched them toss it between them for a couple minutes, enjoying the easy and carefree banter between the two boys... and next thing he knew, he was being fondled by _this_ kid.

"And that's when you decided it would also be a good idea to grope me. What, you wanted a little freebie?"

Which was the wrong thing to say, if the guy's glare was any indication.

"Fuck you, man! I didn't lay a hand on you. I just approached you to see what the fuck you were doing and I tried to talk to you. That's when you attacked me. Thanks a lot, by the way! Nice to know what kind of reward you get these days when you save some asshole's life. Believe me, I'll keep that in mind next time I see someone ready to be turned into a pancake!"

Jim snorted and took a step backward, finally giving the kid some room.

"I just don't like strangers getting so close without my noticing. I'm not even supposed to let them get close enough to allow them to _think_ of getting closer, if that makes sense." Jim could play nice; here he was, trying to show the other guy that he was reasonable, so why didn't he just admit the truth? Jim wouldn't kill him. At least, not too painfully.

But the kid had other ideas, it seemed. He suddenly closed the distance between them, practically plastering himself to Jim's front and, without warning, loudly clapped his hands close to Jim's ears - twice - making him wince. He was so surprised at the unexpected gesture that he didn't even think of reacting. He just looked down at the little shit, who obviously was a bit insane himself.

The kid had now leaned back and was glaring at the bigger man, still not intimidated. "You heard that, apparently; it seems you're not deaf, after all. So what, are you dumb? I fucking told you I didn't touch you. Will you get that into your thick skull?"

It was now clear to Jim that he wouldn't win that one, short of strangling the damn kid. He shrugged. "If you say so."

"Man, you're seriously pissing me off. I should have let the big bad truck do its job. Do you live nearby? ‘Cause I think next time you decide to take a trip to la-la-land in the middle of the street, I'll leave you there, except I'd like to see the show this time. Just to make up for you insulting me for having fucking _saved_ your _life_!"

On that final note he left, deliberately bumping against Jim on the way - not increasing his pace one iota, as if he hadn't the slightest concern that the bigger man would try to retaliate.

Jim wondered whether he wasn't losing his touch as well. He shook his head and walked off, the whole scene unfolding in front of his eyes again. That little guy was something else, alright.

* * *

As fate willed it, that wasn't the last time Jim would run into the kid.

Only this time, _he_ was the one who played the hero.

Jim was coming home from Wonderburger, always a guilty pleasure, when he heard a commotion from an alley. He frowned, trying to make out exactly what was happening, when he suddenly heard a voice that was familiar. Without really realizing that he was moving, he found himself in front of two men who apparently had every intention of getting their fun even with an unwilling partner.

From the look of it, it was obvious that the kid had defended himself well; unfortunately he was outnumbered and had just had the wind knocked out of him, leaving him on his knees on the concrete. He was gasping, trying to catch his breath while attempting to stand up at the same time, but heavy hands on his shoulders kept him down.

Jim narrowed his eyes at the scene, jaw clenching tight as he slowly approached the threesome. He crept forward stealthily, and attacked without warning. He applied his training swiftly and silently and, before they even realized what was happening, Jim had two unconscious men inelegantly sprawled on the ground. He poked them with a foot, making sure they were out of commission, and smiled with feral satisfaction at his work.

He didn't waste his time with them though, instead focusing on the kid. He squatted next to him, not touching yet, uncertain if the physical contact would be welcome so soon after the assault. "Everything okay?"

"Sure," the kid said, his voice a little raspy. He gave up trying to stand and sat on the concrete. He took a deep breath, which made him cough. "Shit."

"Take your time. They're not going to hurt anybody."

The young man coughed once more and turned his head, his eyes going cold as they saw the unconscious men. "Looks like you're right." He ran a hand on his face, wincing as he came in contact with an already forming bruise. "They can't ever leave the face alone, man," he said, his voice sounding almost whiny.

Jim stood up, offering a hand to the man still on the ground. He accepted the help but let go of Jim 's hand as soon as he was up. Jim kept close, hovering. They stared at each other for a moment, then the kid started walking, albeit quite slowly.

"Hey Batman, hope you don't have anything to say about our leaving those assholes sprawled over there?"

"I knocked them out, I didn't kill them," Jim replied matter-of-factly. "They'll each have a killer headache and they'll have to move carefully for awhile, but they'll survive. As for the police... I don't suppose you want to go to them?"

"You suppose right. It's not as if they'll do anything to help me. I'll get more hassle from them than I did from those two jerks, believe me. Just the hazards of the job, you know?" He licked his lips. "They won't do it again. They were losers. Now that they got a taste of their own medicine, they won't dare try again."

"You sound quite sure of yourself."

His companion smiled humorlessly. "I know those guys. And I'll pass the word around. The others will be on the lookout, but I just know the next beating won't come from them." He kept silent for a couple of minutes, then looked at his 'savior'. "I could tell you I was handling those guys and I didn't need your help, but I guess you would laugh in my face?"

Jim smiled a little. "Hey Chief, from what I saw, you were handling the situation just fine. But in the end, one against two... "

"Because of course you weren't alone when _you_ knocked out those assholes?" he gently mocked.

Jim shrugged. "I know how to kill someone in twenty different ways with my pinkie; that was nothing."

The kid laughed at that, regretting it immediately as his ribs reminded him that he wasn't in the best shape. "That was so lame, man!"

"But still very true," Jim answered easily, stopping as he realized they'd been heading close to where he lived.

"Right. So I suppose I should say thanks, huh? Or maybe I should accuse you of trying to molest me too? Just to even things out between us and all."

"Give me a break, Chief," Jim groaned. "Let's forget about that little scene, shall we?" He was still uncertain what had happened that time, but he didn’t want to get into it again.

"Right," the young man repeated. He looked as if he was going to say something, but apparently decided not to. "Well anyway," he finally said, "I think I'll just go home and sleep the sleep of the wounded."

Jim looked him up and down, wondering whether a trip to the hospital wouldn't be a better idea, but kept silent. It wasn't his business and if the kid didn't think it necessary, he had to know what he was doing. He shrugged inwardly; he'd done enough already.

"You do that, Chief."

Without another word, the youn man left, glancing over his shoulder before disappearing into the night.

Left alone, Jim shook his head as if trying to clear his mind. That kid was sending off some powerful vibes. Jim swore he could still feel his presence, and his hand was still warm from the other's. He smiled at that. If the kid could make such an impression on him when he was hurt and still shaken from his encounter with those two men, Jim could only imagine what kind of sparks he could create when he was 100% up to his usual self.

He wondered for a moment whether meeting with the kid again would be a blessing or a disaster.

* * *

"Incredible, don't you think?"

Jim stretched and raised an eyebrow, not up to talking just now. He'd finally finished a pretty tiring night of work and he wasn't sure he was ready for some inane rambling. And what was the kid doing on the docks anyway?

"You're not the only who works at night, you know that?"

"You read minds, Chief?"

"Part of the job," he said, almost dismissively. "So anyway, we're meeting again and wow, neither of us is in a deadly situation. Pretty impressive, if you ask me."

"Put that way, I guess you're right."

"Stressful night? Back hurting?"

"Hard work will do that to you," Jim replied neutrally. Was the boy propositioning him?

The hooker, for it now seemed obvious that he was still working, leaned back against the wall, using a posture that was provocative and blatantly inviting.

Jim's eyes narrowed - he _was_ propositioning him.

"I hope you're not serious, kid.” He advanced on the little shit and loomed over him, making it clear he wasn't playing. "Do I look like one of those sick fucks who pay to drill your ass?"

The kid's eyes narrowed as well, but he didn't move or change his attitude. He went for casual. "Hey man, no one ever _looks_ like a sick fuck."

Jim plastered the front of his body against his companion's, not moving an inch. He bent his head close to the other’s cheek and lifted his hand to push a strand of hair behind the young man's ear, baring it for him.

"When I fuck you, Chief," he promised, "it'll be for pleasure, not work. I'll nail your ass so good, you'll never doubt even for a second that it's anything but personal." He licked the kid's earlobe. "And it'll be because we _both_ want it." He nibbled the wet ear and smiled predatorily as he felt a shiver run through the body against him.

He leaned back and broke the contact. "Are we clear?"

The other man composed himself fast, but his eyes seemed a bit misty. That was good, because Jim's own body felt like it'd been set on fire. He hadn't expected his reaction. The kid was sexy and gorgeous, Jim wouldn't deny it, but he'd thought he was only playing. Apparently, his body had other ideas.

"Why don't you give me your name, by the way."

He was met with a stubborn look. Right.

"Your name." The kid didn't know stubborn; Jim was going to show him he was the one who'd invented the word.

"Sky."

Jim shook his head. "Your - Name," he asked again, enunciating each word.

"Blair Sandburg."

"Thank you." He offered his hand. "Jim Ellison."

He waited a second before the kid - before _Blair_ \- took the hint, and smiled when a firm hand shook his before breaking the touch.

Jim was still facing the kid, watching him intently. Blair looked puzzled, as if he was confronted with some complex problem.

Jim suddenly realized what had just happened. He put his hands on either side of the kid's face, staring at him without a word for a few seconds. Then he pulled back.

Before leaving, he asked, "Did I pass the test?"

Blair's eyes widened before narrowing again. You certainly couldn't take this kid by surprise for too long.

"With flying colors."

"Good," Jim replied. "I'm glad to know I scored higher than those 'sick fucks'. See ya, then."

* * *

"Thank God, you're back," was the first thing that Jim heard when he... woke up, or came back from wherever the hell he went when he had one of his fucking spells.

Jim slowly opened his eyes and looked up at his companion. Blair was sitting on the floor next to him, a hand resting heavily on Jim's thigh - soft, warm and shaking slightly, it seemed. He didn't add anything, just stayed there, looking at Jim from shadowed eyes.

As soon as he noticed Jim staring at him, he composed himself and went back to the casual attitude he harbored all the time, a habit that drove the older man crazy. It was clear he'd been worried, but he wasn't going to admit it just yet. It would be Jim's job to dig out the information he wanted. Eventually.

For now, all he wanted to know what how bad it had been - if he could just find the energy to speak. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find his bearings. They'd been spending a nice, relaxing evening - as they'd been doing more and more often in the past weeks - and here he was now, lying on his couch with no recollection of what had happened to him. He hated himself sometimes, hated how unpredictable his own body had become.

"Jim, _are_ you back?" The tone was still casual, but it didn't fool Jim; it was obvious that his friend had been worried. Which worried _him_ in return; it had to have been worse than usual to shake the younger man.

"I think so," he replied slowly. His voice sounded normal to his ears. That was something at least. "How long was I out?"

"Too long. You need to stop doing that, you know?"

"Because I'm _choosing_ to go to la-la-land, of course."

“You know what I mean, Ellison.” As expected, Blair sounded irritated.

Jim ran a hand over his face, noting with relief that he didn't feel the slightest pain at the touch. It was over for now. He stretched a hand out to Blair and squeezed the back of his neck once, thanking him without words, trying to make up for the scare he'd given the other man, even though he obviously couldn’t prevent it.

He couldn't say the words, couldn't look Blair in the eyes and tell him 'thanks'. If he had to be honest, he was wary of Sandburg's apparent ability to bring him back from his spells. He oscillated between sometimes being grateful and other times disturbed at the kid's apparent control of Jim's own body.

They hadn't abandoned their visits to the hospital yet; both men still hoped that science would help them understand what happened and maybe, one day, even cure Jim, but in the meantime they made do. That meant letting Blair work around the problem and ‘Do His Thing’ - he had a knack for bringing Jim back, and it was the only solution they'd found so far.

Jim tried to smile. "You did it again, Chief. You pulled me out of it. Seems like you have a magic touch."

"I do have a magic touch," Blair answered almost absent-mindedly. "But I didn't touch you, man."

Jim frowned at that. "I felt your hand on me. Your fingers, your palm - it was warm. It was gentle-" He stopped, suddenly feeling like he was saying too much.

Blair didn't comment on any of it, just frowned as well and shook his head. "I didn't touch you, alright? I talked to you and when I tried to stroke your forehead you fucking whimpered and _flinched_. I wasn't going to try again after that."

And here Jim was again, in what he'd started seeing as the Sandburg Zone.

"I sensed you, Chief."

"You were out of it, Ellison. I'm surprised you didn't dream about something really wacky. This is pretty tame, considering."

This was starting to piss him off now. He _knew_ what he'd felt, he wasn't crazy, dammit! He chose not to say anything, but the look on his face spoke eloquently.

That attitude didn't go over well with Blair, who became annoyed in return. Eyes flashing with suppressed anger, he stood, effectively breaking physical contact with the other man.

"Fuck you, man. I'm telling you I didn't touch you. Why would I lie about something like that? I was _hurting_ you, alright? Fucking hurting you. So no, I didn't put my damn hands anywhere on your body when you were in that state."

"So your hand magically appeared on my thigh?"

"What?" Blair was trying to stay calm, which in fact was a testament to the scare he'd just had if he was willing to spare Jim now. "Are you sure you're okay? And what the hell are we even talking about here, anyway? I did not touch you _then_. Excuse me for being scared shitless and trying to comfort you once you were coming back. I'll remember to keep my hands to myself next time you fucking go crazy on me!"

"I'm not crazy!" Jim yelled.

His outburst surprised the two men and they abruptly fell silent, staring at each other, trying to understand what the hell was happening.

Sometimes Jim wondered why they even hung out together, if they couldn't even talk decently about the most mundane things. Not that Jim going into a pseudo-coma was mundane as such, but it felt like they were always arguing about the most stupid things.

"You tried to pull this bullshit with me that first time, remember? And I told you then that I felt your touch too, so what? Your mind is touching me and that's what I feel?"

"Right," Blair said, his voice low; he'd stopped fighting, which was never a good sign. "That's exactly what it is. And you know what? My incredible magic mind and I are going to take a hike. I'm sure you won't miss me too much since you'll still feel my touch, right?" He practically spat the last words, making it sound so stupid that it set Jim's teeth on edge.

Blair didn't wait for a response. He turned and, without a word, left the apartment.

For a second, Jim thought of calling him back, but the look on Blair's face stopped him; apparently the younger man felt some guilt over his own outburst and it was better to leave him alone for the time being.

Jim knew that Blair wasn’t concerned about the yelling match; between the two of them, they had quite a volatile partnership and their arguments usually set off sparks. Blair never backed down when Jim pushed him, and the older man never resented the other for his backbone - quite the contrary - but, from the look on his face, Jim suspected that Blair was angry with himself because of the whole 'crazy' issue. He knew it was a sore point for Jim, and he apparently felt bad at having even mentioned it.

Jim shook his head at the sheer stupidity of the whole argument and sat on the couch, trying to decide what to do. Get up. Go out for a drink. Go to bed. He didn't know.

Life was a bitch. That's what it was. And it kept trying to get at him. Each time he thought he was going to score a point, he found himself alone. Ironically, the absence of the one who had become his friend in spite of their differences felt quite heavy in the room - he could almost touch it and, in the relatively safe haven of his home, he could admit it to himself at least - it hurt.

Jim sighed, officially feeling too weary to get up. He didn't know what disturbed him the most. He was used to arguments with the other man and this one was actually quite tame; it was his own mental state that worried him. What the fuck happened each time he had one of his spells? And why did he keep on feeling Blair, even when he wasn't even _there_?

What was wrong with him - with them both?

* * *

Nothing was wrong with them.

Not in bed at least.

The room was heavy with spent lust - almost uncomfortably hot, due to the two bodies that had spent hours learning each other, bringing each other to the brink of orgasm before backing down, only to tease all over again, until neither man had been able to resist anymore and they'd both given free rein to their passion.

"God, Chief," Jim rasped, breathing deeply. "You killed me."

"I killed you? You're kidding, man. I'll feel you all week."

Jim knew better than to ask whether he'd hurt Blair - his friend would take it as an insult - so he just hauled the other man to him, manhandling his body so that Blair was plastered against his front, chest against chest, his head comfortably resting on Jim's shoulder.

"Am I situated to your satisfaction, Ellison?" Blair asked, amused.

"You are, Sandburg. Thanks for asking."

"You ass."

"Aren't you the one who always say that you are what you eat?"

"God," Blair burst out laughing. "I can't believe you said that."

Jim smiled, loving how Blair's laughter was making his body shake, sending all kind of nice feelings to his cock. He was spent right now, but he still enjoyed the soft teasing.

"I've been wondering how good you were in bed."

Jim looked down at Blair, waiting for the rest. "Yes?" If the kid wanted to flatter his ego, he wasn't going to stop him.

A puff of air against his collarbone told him Blair was having fun just now, making him sweat a little. Except that the screams he'd dragged out of the other man had already told the story. Still... Jim didn't mind actually hearing the words.

"You were better than I thought, big guy," was the soft reply.

Jim felt a change of mood and just kissed the top of his lover's hair, not joking about how he'd rated or how good _Blair_ had been. He had a lot of baggage in his life but, when it came to sex, Sandburg had more than he could ever imagine. Jim knew he was trading on fragile ground, so he didn't say anything, just held the body even closer.

Now that they were both calming down from the rush, he could appreciate the situation for what it had been - pure madness. Pure Jim and Blair, in a way.

They'd had yet another heated argument - in Jim's apartment, which would certainly cause him to lose even more points with his neighbors. They'd thrown insults at each other, they'd even gone as far as shoving each other like those stupid kids you sometimes saw on the street, all macho posturing, and then, out of nowhere, they'd kissed. Before they even understood what had happened, they were both naked and making out like two crazed men. After that... well it had reached new levels of amazing intensity, new peaks of incredible pleasure until that blissful moment when he'd slid inside Blair...

"Remind me to argue with you more often, Chief."

"You want to kill us, is that it?" Blair whimpered.

"But what a way to go."

"Well yeah, there is that."

They kept silent a moment, both reveling in each other's presence before Blair patted Jim's chest and slid out of bed. Jim watched him move, unconsciously licking his lips as he remembered the feast he'd devoured that night. Blair must have felt the stare because he chuckled.

"Enjoying the view, aren't you?"

"Still the mind reader, Sandburg?"

"And don't you forget it." His clothes in hand, he came to the bed and kissed Jim again. "And I know that you're falling asleep on me, so just do it, man. I know where the door is."

"Don't mind me if I do.” His eyes were getting heavy with sleep, true enough. "Use the bathroom first if you want to, alright? Mi casa es su casa."

"Thanks, Jim," Blair whispered before heading to the door.

Jim mumbled his goodbye before rolling to Blair's side and burrowing into the heat he'd just left. He felt surrounded by his lover; he wouldn't really be alone tonight.

* * *

"I'm expensive enough, man."

Jim didn't even know how they'd ended up on that topic. They'd been hanging out, watching a Jags game and eating Chinese. They'd been chatting more than actually watching the game, but neither man had even thought of complaining about it.

"Too expensive, is that it?" Jim asked, his tone making it clear he was only joking, not wanting his companion to go on the defensive.

"I'm never _too_ expensive, Ellison," Blair replied easily, clearly getting the message. He smirked. "I'm just expensive _enough_."

As if it explained everything.

Jim raised an eyebrow, making the young man laugh, and Jim smiled in return. He was glad that Blair felt comfortable enough to talk about his profession - such as it was - without reverting to aggressive behavior or mockery. It wasn't easy for him. But in the weeks they'd known each other, Blair had started to accept that Jim was genuinely interested in _him_ , Blair, and not in Sky the whore - so when the other man asked him about his work, Blair felt safe in the knowledge that he was being asked because Jim was curious about how it affected him as a person, and not as a result of some unhealthy interest.

Blair didn't often discuss his activities, preferring to keep things to himself. Apparently that even extended to the other prostitutes, and Blair had admitted to his friend that the new pimps in town tended to try and recruit him each time they saw him 'mingle'. So Blair only talked with them about what was happening; they all warned each other about new players, new rumors about life on the street. But Jim could tell that it wasn't the relaxed, carefree chatting that Blair shared with him.

So Jim waited patiently for Blair to explain if he wanted to, not pressuring the younger man in any way into revealing things he didn't feel comfortable sharing.

Blair smiled at his best friend, squeezing his arm quickly in a furtive 'thank you'.

"I'm not _too_ expensive," he started, "so that other guys, or girls, don't steal my tricks, but I'm expensive enough that it titillates their imagination, shall we say. It's like any other business, man. People whine about how expensive the goods are, but if it's too cheap they won't give it a second thought because they'll see the products as defective or not good enough, know what I mean?"

Jim nodded. He always felt a pang of pain when he heard Blair talk this way about what was essentially his own body, but he understood the process. Detachment was the only way to really cope with that kind of life. He used that coping mechanism himself often enough; he could only imagine what it felt like for Blair.

Actually no, he couldn't even imagine, but he always tried to - for Blair's sake.

Apparently satisfied with Jim's answer, Blair resumed his explanation. "So it's really a matter of having to tread carefully and know your audience. And well, sometimes, you just know the guy is ready to pay big bucks to have you. For instance, most of the time, you recognize husbands and fathers at first glance. They usually have guilt written all over them. Guilt and desperation - those guys will pay a lot. It's like a neon sign on their faces, I swear." He shrugged. "It demands experience and observation skills. I'm an observer of human nature, Jim, see?"

Jim smiled softly. "I do."

Blair stared at him from under his lashes and Jim hoped the young man would see no accusation or pity in his eyes because that's not what Jim felt; he was just stating a fact, willing Blair to get the message.

That was something else he loved about Blair - how much he could understand just from a glance on Jim's part. How attuned to one another they seemed to be. And Blair felt it too.

One night when Blair had felt particularly shaken after a violent session with a client, he'd revealed some pretty heavy thoughts - thoughts that Jim knew he would regret sharing when daylight broke. He hadn't brought their discussion up again, giving Blair the illusion that he'd never betrayed himself that way, but Jim still remembered what he'd been told that time - how his lover felt that their attraction wasn't just sexual, that it was so much more than that, even though he couldn't put a word on it. How, sometimes when Jim smiled at him, Blair felt almost as if his whole body was caressed and kissed. He'd told Jim that it was powerful and exhilarating, scary and beautiful. Just like _Jim_ was.

When things got tough between them, Jim clung to the memory of that night.

He wasn't speaking of soulmates or everlasting love; he didn't even believe in those. And besides, Blair and he weren't in any kind of relationship so far; they were just two men who had sex on occasion, that was all. Some would have snickered at that and joked that it wasn't anything new for Blair, except Jim knew for a fact that it was. Jim wasn't naïve, but he knew that Blair enjoyed the sex, and gave himself freely and eagerly, which made a world of difference.

He was still trying to teach Blair about intimacy, but since he himself had trouble with that... well, it wasn't always easy for either of them, and Blair never failed to remind Jim how fucked up they both were, seeming to almost revel in the idea. And Blair wondered why Jim's favorite endearment for him was 'little shit'?

Jim shook his head, coming back to reality with a chuckle.

He cast a glance at Blair and saw that the other man's eyes were riveted on the TV. Apparently, once he'd realized Jim was lost in thought he'd just turned back to the game, not taking offense and letting his lover think in peace.

Silence never was uncomfortable between them. Scratch that; sometimes it was, but only when they had engaged in one of their infamous arguments. Otherwise, they could simply sit silently together and still feel at ease. Those silences were never loaded with resentment or pain or accusations of any sort. They were just part of their friendship.

Jim knew neither of them was going to let their guards down just yet, but he could allow himself to bask in friendship at least.

* * *

Jim peeked at his watch and smiled when he saw it was near midnight - twenty minutes away from a well-deserved rest. He raised his arms high and stretched; his back and shoulders were taut and he knew he would have to be careful to stretch properly after he went back home or he would feel sore the next day. He was used to physical work - actually reveled in it, because it gave him the opportunity to work off a lot of steam - but he was still looking forward to the rest.

He went back to work, lifting one of the heavy boxes coming from the ship. At that moment he heard a familiar sound coming from behind him or, more precisely, from a corner of the old building. Without turning his head, he knew what had attracted his attention, and a slow smile appeared on his face.

Sandburg had just arrived and, from the sound of it, he'd already taken up what had become his regular spot when he was waiting for him.

As usual, Jim wouldn't comment on his... what, lover? Fuckbuddy? He wouldn't comment on _Blair_ 's - that at least was safe - presence. He never said anything, just took pleasure in the newly acquired knowledge that he now had someone who waited for him at the end of his shift. It felt... good. Oddly comforting. Definitely new.

He never commented on it because, to tell the truth, he never really knew what to say anyway. Blair would be there, almost acting as if he just happened to be in the neighborhood and decided to take advantage of his accidentally being here to wait for Jim. No sweat. It was a pretence which always made Jim smile, since he knew that Blair never visited this area if not for work; the docks were always colder, more humid, and Blair hated being cold. He came here to work because he had some regulars who gravitated here, but that was the only reason why he would visit the docks. It was work, not pleasure, and certainly not by accident either; Blair was never careless about his surroundings. Which, when he thought of it, was something Jim preferred not to dwell on too much - his own knowledge of Blair's schedule and habits. It was better that way.

To this day, Jim was still trying to understand how Sandburg had gotten under his skin so fast. Getting into the guy's pants had been one thing - Jim wasn't averse to a little romp in bed now and then so it was hardly a problem - but when he did, he usually didn't go back for seconds or thirds. He would fuck the guy - or the woman - and be gone in the morning, both parties aware beforehand that it was nothing more than a one-time thing. It was satisfying and it kept the sense of loneliness at bay for at least a few hours - a whole night if he was lucky - but that was all it was.

Except it had been different with Blair, and Jim was still trying to understand why. Or how. It was quite the mystery, really. Of course, if there was one thing he'd learned in the weeks he'd been with the guy - or the few months he'd known him - it was that Sandburg was outside the norm. He had his own category, his own box, so to speak. He kept Jim on his toes, that much was certain. He also frustrated the hell out of him on a daily basis, but Jim knew that the other man felt the same way towards him. It was what made things between them so interesting, to put it mildly.

The kid wasn't a pushover. It seemed that Jim never succeeded in intimidating him, no matter how hard he tried to. Which, granted, wasn’t surprising at all, considering Sandburg's life. But it still unnerved Jim because one thing he was used to was people keeping their distance when confronted with The Ice, as some had taken to calling him. At least it gave him room to breathe; people certainly weren't getting in line to know him. He wasn't drowning in a sea of friends, but since friends had the bad habit of leaving him, betraying him or dying on him - which, in some part of his mind, was just another kind of betrayal - it suited him fine.

So why it had been different with Sandburg? Well that was the question.

Jim had no idea whether their... relationship - if he could call it that - would ever go anywhere. But the simple fact that they were even friends to begin with was a miracle in and of itself, and something to be grateful for.

No matter the difficulties of their partnership, one thing was certain; Blair had already left an imprint in Jim's life. It was there, almost as physical as a real touch on his arm. One day, he would have to make the little shit admit it.

Jim had always loved a challenge, and he liked it better when the reward seemed out of reach.

* * *

Jim pushed into Blair slowly and listened to him groan; the younger man was in for a long and _slow_ ride tonight.

Jim knew that Blair always wondered why he was tortured - his words - like this, with a slow fucking that seemed to last a lifetime. Jim would enter him with almost no preparation - which he knew was a favorite of Blair's, granted - inch by inch, letting him truly _feel_ the stretching of inner muscle. Technically, Blair wasn't fucked raw, but it was intense enough that the penetration was rendered almost painful. But it was a good pain, a sensation that you would willingly damn yourself over and over again for the chance of feeling just more time.

Jim was fully aware that, even though Blair understood that he wasn't supposed to move during those times, his lover always had an urge to grab Jim and make the bigger man fuck him properly - down and dirty. But Jim wouldn't let himself be distracted.

He intended to drive Blair crazy, and was very close to succeeding. His lover definitely wasn't used to long and slow.

Did Blair like it?

The younger man arched up and shivered, eyes closing in ecstasy, as a new stroke sent him practically flying, leaving him breathless.

Jim smirked. Oh yeah, Blair definitely did. He just wasn't ready to admit it yet.

"For fuck's sake," Blair gasped, arching up again. "Touch me, Jim."

He reached a trembling hand toward his lover but Jim leaned back on his heels just a bit, avoiding the contact. He stilled and smiled tightly at Blair, trying to convey what he wanted without saying the words.

Blair demonstrated his understanding as he reluctantly lowered his hands. Then - perhaps as an afterthought to stop himself from reaching out again - he raised them over his head and grabbed the headboard tightly.

Jim was grateful that Blair seemed determined to let him conduct the ‘show’ as he wanted, even though his lover had claimed that Jim would kill him in the process. Jim had assured him, with an evil chuckle, that there were worse ways to die than an excess of sheer, unadulterated pleasure.

This time, when Jim's cock slid inside him, even deeper in his body, Blair whimpered, a desperate sound that begged for more.

"Jim," he breathed. "Why won't you touch me?" He closed his eyes and tried to push against his lover but he felt Jim draw back again, and stopped the motion immediately.

His arms still stretched wide and gripping the top of the headboard to brace himself as he slowly fucked his lover, Jim bent low on Blair's body and let his lips hover over his lover's, still not totally closing the gap between their bodies. He smiled as Blair blindly tried to close the distance between them, failing again.

"I _am_ touching you, babe. Don't you feel it? You always talk about being branded from within, don't you feel it?"

"No." Blair shook his head, not ready to give in just yet. Jim knew it was too much for his lover - not necessarily too soon, but too much.

Jim suspected that he was making Blair feel too many things. Even with all his experience, it sometimes seemed as if his friend was newly discovering sex. Blair would laugh when he said that, although he seemed to find it slightly disturbing, for some reason, and he never failed to blame it all on Jim.

Sometimes, Jim thought he was teaching Blair intimacy from scratch, and that was brand new to him, almost too big to comprehend.

"Liar," Jim gently admonished. He had an intense look of concentration on his face as he tried hard not to give in to the demands of his body and thrust hard and fast; the sweat running along his face, chest and thighs was testimony to the effort he was making.

Jim wanted nothing more than to fuck Blair into oblivion and make them both lose themselves in a hard and punishing pace, but another part of him craved this slow motion and the sensations he was subjecting them both to.

And, to tell the truth, he was engaged in a battle of wills with Blair; he was determined to make the other man admit what was happening between them. Not the relationship per se, they were both beginning to accept that, but this... odd feeling that sometimes swept over them. It was more than their regular partnership. He knew perfectly well he wasn't the only one aware of it; he just needed to make Blair say it. Even if he did it just once, it would be enough, but Jim still needed to hear it.

Since Blair used the language of sex to translate a lot of things, Jim was using it as a means to try and reach him; after all, everything was fair in love and war. Blair was certainly making Jim work at it. He supposed that was the true meaning of being with someone.

The thought actually made him smile and he felt a sudden rush of affection for his lover. He couldn’t deny that they made quite the pair.

Jim felt a tremor travel along his spine, reminding him of the strain of his position and he bent low again, whispering in Blair's ears. "Tell me, baby, tell me," he repeated in a slow rhythm, like an echo to his maddeningly slow thrusts. "I know you want to, I feel it. You can let go, now."

"God, Jim," Blair whispered back, closing his eyes and reaching his hands to his lover, not caring anymore that he wasn't supposed to touch; he needed the physical reassurance. He buried his face in Jim's neck, licking the sweat and reveling in the warmth he felt there and said the words Jim wanted to hear. He said them softly, almost in a whisper but Jim heard each one, and he was almost ecstatic.

He changed position and cradled Blair on his lap, both men entangled together as if they were one, before Jim finally pushed them both over the edge.

They rested for a moment, both winding down in each other's arms but, after too short a time, Blair kissed Jim and moved out of the bed.

"What are you doing, Chief?"

"Going home."

That's what Jim had thought. He felt a pang of disappointment, which he tried to squelch immediately. He clenched his jaw, not noticing how tense his body had just become. Obviously, it didn’t mean that everything had been fixed, just because they'd taken a new step in their relationship.

But Blair noticed the change in his lover. "Jim, what? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing,” was Jim's curt reply. He rolled to his side, his back facing Blair, effectively cutting himself off from him.

"Right, and you want me to believe that."

"I don't want you to believe anything, Sandburg. Thanks for the fuck," he said, closing his eyes in anger - both at Blair and at himself - as soon as the words left his mouth. That was uncalled for.

He wanted to apologize, but Blair had already left the bed. Jim was still disappointed with his lover's stubborn attitude, so he didn't try to follow. He knew they'd never really talked about it, but what choice did he have? Could he really ask Blair to please stay the night, not leave the apartment right after they'd wound down because he didn't want the closeness to end?

And maybe he wasn't ready himself if he couldn't say the fucking words.

Jim sighed and turned, watching as Blair gathered his discarded clothes. The tightly-pressed lips and hard, shuttered look were a clear indication that his lover's mind was still on what Jim had just said. Blair’s closed-off look meant he'd been hurt. Jim had the power to do that, a power he felt wary of, but the ability to hurt the other was a two-way street, and he was hurting too.

Blair was putting his clothes on, not bothering to clean up; it wasn't as if he wasn't used to this, Jim thought. He saw Blair stand awkwardly in the room, which made him wince a little. Blair was never awkward.

Even in the dark, and though he wasn't supposed to see clearly, Jim could practically read Blair's thoughts on his face. His lover was hesitating between leaving without a word or trying to make Jim tell him what had gone wrong. He'd turned the problem around and had come to the conclusion that he was at fault.

And now it made Jim feel guilty, too. Blair shouldn't be wondering what he'd done wrong. He'd played Jim's game and given him the words he wanted to hear, after all. Although, calling it a game wasn't fair to either of them. But Blair had said what Jim had craved, and he'd done it willingly - eagerly even - finally ready to show his lover that he accepted more than the sex between them, that he was aware of their... bond, for lack of a better word. It seemed that he needed to hear himself say it as much as Jim did, and how Jim thanked him? By - quite literally - turning his back on him.

Jim realized they would end the night being angry at themselves, both wondering where they'd fucked up, and that wasn't what he'd hoped for when he started making love to Blair. Maybe it was best if the young man left; Jim needed some time to think as well, it seemed.

He was trying to decide whether to say something, if only to soothe the situation a little, but Blair beat him to it. He came back to the room, squatted next to the bed and looked at Jim, who stared back, just as silent.

"Am I supposed to apologize?" Blair asked softly.

Jim laughed weakly at that. "If you do, then I'll have to apologize too. Let's just shut up for now, okay?"

"Fine with me," Blair smiled.

Jim reached a hand to Blair, hauling him closer by the back of his neck so that he could kiss him deeply.

Blair then knelt and leaned towards Jim in response. "We're okay, then?"

"As much as we always are."

"Damn," Blair whispered against Jim's lips. "That should be scary."

Jim stroked his cheek, then motioned towards the door. "Go, Chief. We'll see each other tomorrow."

"You bet."

When he heard the lock click, Jim rolled onto his back and sighed. He'd almost fucked up, and for what? Blair still needed some time and he was determined not to pressure the younger man in any way. Besides, it was his own damn fault for not _asking_ \- so if he wanted to wake up next to Blair each morning, he just had to say the damn words, since Blair had apparently lost his mind-reading abilities.

Of course, the other explanation was that Blair didn't _want_ to contemplate that new step in their relationship. Which definitely was a possibility. Sometimes the younger man was a little slow on the uptake.

Jim would have to spell out the words, then; engage in a new battle. He enjoyed the thought. Besides, it was nothing new, really.

He rolled again, taking Blair's side of the bed, inhaling deeply. The place smelled of Blair and him... it smelled of sex, it was _them_ , pure and unadulterated.

Jim fell asleep quickly after that, no longer feeling Blair's absence. He was still there, touching him all over.

* * *

Jim Ellison didn't believe in fairy tales. He supposed he might have, once... but if that was the case, it might as well have been in another lifetime. He didn't believe in love at first sight either, or love being a bed of roses. Love was a battle, and you had to fight and fight again in order to keep things working. Not that it was a bad thing in itself. If there was one thing Jim was good at, it was fighting. When he wanted something, few obstacles could keep him at bay - which one Blair Sandburg was going to realize tonight.

The object of his attention was waiting for him around a corner, as the younger man always did. That in itself warmed Jim as few things did - the knowledge that each time he finished his shift, Blair would be waiting for him.

He pointedly ignored the other workmen around him; they simply ceased to exist for him the minute his shift ended. He purposely advanced toward Blair, who stepped back in the shadow a tad more, as if he wanted them to be hidden from view. Which suited Jim just fine.

He stopped in front of Blair and, after a few seconds of silence, advanced on him, making the other man move back until his back was against the wall. Blair started to smile and he licked his lips invitingly, but his eyes widened a fraction at Jim's next move. Instead of taking another step so that he was finally touching Blair, Jim kept still, never closing the gap between their bodies. Then, still without a word, he slowly reached for Blair's hands and placed them on either side of his lover's own head, squeezing them hard for a second as if to tell the younger man to keep them there. Blair narrowed his eyes at Jim for a second but chose to follow his companion's lead and didn't say anything; he kept his hands up but spread his arms slightly wider, showing Jim he was willing to obey, but that it was on his own terms.

Jim nodded and, his body never touching Blair's, bent his head to kiss his lover, licking the lips and demanding entry. Blair opened his mouth and surrendered to the kiss immediately, eyes closed and body already craving more. He let a moan escape and tried to thrust against Jim, but the kiss stopped when he did and the bigger man just straightened, staring at him.

"You asked me what was wrong with me - the other night. Remember?"

Blair nodded but didn't say anything. He felt an instant sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. This was it. Jim was going to end this... this nameless thing they had between them, that Blair couldn't even identify. It, no matter what it was, would be over in a matter of seconds, but he would be damned if he was going to help the son of bitch. If Jim wanted to destroy the best thing Blair had ever had in his whole fucking life, he was going to have to work for it, because Blair didn't have any intention of making it easier for him. He didn't care that neither of them had ever said anything about their... relationship, as fucked up as some people might think it was. He didn't give a damn that the 'L-word' had never touched their lips, because the 'L-word' didn't mean anything anyway. Or at least, that's what he'd believed until now. Blair didn't fucking care that Jim had never made any promises to him. All he knew was that suddenly he was afraid, and he didn't want to hear what Jim was going to say.

Reacting unconsciously, he closed himself off from Jim. Being afraid was a weakness, and he was anything but weak, so he would face Jim and he wouldn't break. It wouldn't be the first punch he had received, be it real or metaphorical. He knew he would go on, no matter what. Blair waited for Jim to say whatever the hell it was he wanted to say, his expression defiant, as well as resigned.

"Shit, Chief. This is exactly what's wrong!" And damned if Jim didn't sound angry now.

"What, Ellison?" Blair snapped. "I didn't say a fucking word, did I? I'm just being a good boy and waiting for the lecture." He suddenly realized that his hands were still raised up, but now it made him feel stupid, so he self-consciously started to lower them.

But Jim had his own hands firmly curled around his lover's wrists and held them in place before Blair could budge. "Don't move, Chief," he hissed.

Blair banged the back of his head against the wall and closed his eyes in frustration, but complied. Some battles were best abandoned. He knew he wouldn't win that one; no need to waste his energy for nothing.

"Fucking tell me what you want, Jim," he whispered. "And let's put the whole thing behind us, all right? No harm no foul." He wasn't pleading. He was not. He never pleaded anymore.

"Blair," Jim almost sighed. He made sure to keep the distance between them, even though he wanted nothing more than to embrace his lover at this point. But he didn't. Instead he kept still and slowly loosened his fingers around Blair's wrists, then gently ran his fingers from the wrist up to the palm, to finally caress the fingers in a soothing and sensual rhythm. He felt the body in front of him relax slightly.

"Listen, Chief, listen good." Jim's gaze roamed over Blair's body. "I see you." He nuzzled his lover's cheek and let his fingers tease the soft skin of Blair's palm and wrist again. "I touch you." He bent his head to the younger man's neck and inhaled softy, making the body so near his own shiver. "I smell you." He cocked his head to the side and made a show of focusing on something only he could hear. "I hear you too. But," he took a step back and broke all physical contact with Blair, "I can't reach you."

Blair had closed his eyes once more at the sensual touch of his lover, but now opened them slowly and swallowed, completely lost on the meaning hidden behind the little scene.

"Do you hear me, Chief? I do all those things, and I even fuck you - so deep it feels like I'm touching the real you - but it's a lie. I can't reach you. It's like you're hiding behind a fucking chain-link fence. You're there, you allow me close, but you don't let me in."

"That's rich coming from you, Jim." Blair had had enough of being good and listening without a word. "Pot? Meet kettle. I... don't put the blame on me, man. Don't you dare. This... this thing between us... I don't even know what it is sometimes, I don't know where we're going, or if we're even going anywhere at all - if it'll stop, without a warning, if you'll leave without a glance. Don't fucking tell me it's my fault we seem to be stuck!"

"That's not what I'm doing, Chief! I'm just telling you I'm tired of feeling like... dammit!" Jim's jaw clenched dangerously. "Would the world come to an end if you stayed the night after we fucked?"

"Would the world come to an end if you actually asked?"

"What the hell do you think I'm doing, Sandburg?" Jim practically growled.

Blair almost smiled. Almost, because he didn't feel totally safe yet. "I mean before, you asshole. You told me you needed your space. That you felt the need to... to be on your own. To feel like things were kept under your control. You said those things, man."

Jim shook his head. "And of course you would zero in on those, wouldn't you? Yes, I fucking need my space, but did I ever make you feel unwelcome?"

"That's not what I'm saying either. Don't put words in my mouth."

"Pot meet kettle? Does it ring a bell?" Jim raised in a hand in surrender. "Look, what I mean is... my space." His look hardened for a second. "No actually, my space is my space. But I'd be willing to share. Just... don't expect the worst of me, all right? I don't give a shit if you do that with the rest of the world, but not with me. It pisses me off. Are we clear?"

Blair smiled softly. "Crystal."

"Well," Jim pushed his lover back against the wall and this time pressed his body hard against Blair's, blanketing him, "since we're on the same page, what do you say to invading my space tonight?"

Blair's answer was lost as Jim latched onto his lips. He captured the bottom lip and sucked on it before kissing him thoroughly, hands running along Blair's sides and coming to a rest on his thighs. To Jim, the moan that came deep from Blair's throat, and Blair's hands tightly gripping his shirt, were response enough. All of a sudden, he realized that maybe you didn't need to believe in fairy tales to start envisioning a happy ending...

Fin


End file.
